


Both Hands

by Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: All Hands [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Bisexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, James and Miranda in the early days on New Providence island, MUTUAL comfort and love I just want to emphasise that, Miranda Barlow Appreciation, Multi, Polyamory, Pre-Canon, Sex, Swimming, Two hard people being soft and gentle for each other, love and comfort and shared grief, two people and the raw aching absence of their third
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 20:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: James and Miranda, love and grief and joy. A prequel toSetting The Stuns'lsJames walked to the waters' edge and could not hold back a groan when the water cooled his feet. Miranda joined him there, skirts held up, and he grinned at the blissful expression on her face."Be even better on the rest of your body," he told her."Why, sir!" she said, with mock indignation. "Are you suggesting to a Lady that she disrobe?"He looked away to hide his grin, and began unbuttoning his vest.





	Both Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to [Setting The Stuns'ls](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11068431). Because I said 'haha, picture that' and Sang said 'Go write that thing'

 

"I never thought I'd miss an English winter," Miranda said, sprawled out on the bed, clad in only her shift. 

James hummed in agreement. He was enjoying the sight of her from the other side of the bed, laid on his side with only his smallclothes remaining. It was a hot, hot day, even for this climate, with barely a breeze enough to move a blade of grass - let alone a ship. It was bloody fortunate he'd been able to get the Walrus into Nassau just before the wind dropped, or they'd have been bobbing around somewhere out at sea right now, rationing water and food, the crew clawing at each other in frustration. 

As it was, his foresight had earned him the favour of his crew, who now could all have leave and wait for wind in the comfort of the brothel, inn, or wherever they chose. And he could be here, with Miranda. He hadn't been able to spend more than an occasional day with her since he'd gained his ship and crew, and he knew she'd been lonely. These past few days had been a wonderful luxury

He reached out a hand to trace his fingertips along the line of her shoulder.

"Remember fog? Cool and damp on your face..." she said dreamily, and he smiled. 

"Mmm, always liked the way it would smell."

"How do you stand this sort of temperatures aboard the ship?" she asked, rolling her head to the side to look at him. 

"Grudgingly," he said, and she laughed. "The men draw up buckets of seawater to throw over themselves. Or jump overboard, if we're not moving at all. I have a bloody hard time not giving in to the temptation to join them."

"It would not do to be seen like that, I suppose," Miranda said, leaving unsaid that James' position of Captain was still new, his hold over his crew not yet as secure as he wished. "Can all your men swim?"

"I make them learn," he nodded, shifting a little closer to her. "First engagement we had, one of the crew fell overboard during the boarding, and could not make it to the ladder to get back up. Poor fellow drowned before we realised he was in there."

She made a sympathetic noise. 

"It does make sense for those who go to sea to be able to swim," she said after a moment. "I envy them their ability to simply jump into the water to cool down."

James rolled onto his front, leaning up on his elbows to brush a kiss over her forehead, then to her lips. 

"Surely there is some hidden cove not far from here where you might do the same?"

She made a sound of interest, fingertips lightly scratching the back of his neck as he leaned in for another kiss. 

"I have considered this, but it did not seem advisable, especially since I do not swim."

"Well then," he looked fondly down on her, "Isn't it time to start? I am sure we could find a spot away from prying eyes, where clothes need not hinder us in the water."

She looked scandalised at the thought of going into the water utterly unclothed, and then, instantly, delighted. He chuckled at her realisation that this was indeed an option. 

James tried to ignore the quiet pang in his gut at the thought of how much Thomas used to enjoy these expressions on his wife's face, had deliberately courted them sometimes. Thomas had loved watching Miranda act free and unfettered my the mores of polite society, her face alight with unhesitating joy and pleasure. It was what had been at the base of what had grown between them, between the three of them—the understanding that rather than begrudge Miranda's pursuit of James, he'd encouraged it. Rather than destroying the closeness between Thomas and James, it had brought them into a tight little knot of shared understanding and confidences, and in hindsight the conclusion of it, the closing of that circle, seemed as natural and inevitable as the incoming tide. 

Miranda sensed the direction of his thoughts, and he felt himself tugged against her, lithe, over-warm body draped up against his side in a partial echo of how she and Thomas had enfolded him between their bodies when James had returned from sea, back then. Not a year ago.  _ Oh Christ— _

"Our Thomas was a generous man," she said, voice small and a little choked. "He would not begrudge us whatever joy there is to be eked out of this existence."

_ Our Thomas _ . It was like a gutpunch of pain and love, this tacit reminder that she felt him an equal part in what was, had been, still was, between them — that he was both claimed and fully justified in claiming in return, even expected to. 

James choked back whatever hot, raw emotion was trying to crawl its way up his throat and turned to kiss her, pulling her close with large hands on her back and nape, pouring love and grief and appreciation into her mouth. 

She made a soft noise and returned the kiss, stroked his face, until the roar of emotions eased in him and the kiss trailed off. They laid with foreheads together for a while, breathing one another's air. 

Finally they broke apart in sudden, mutual agreement of it being too hot to be in such close proximity.

"Well then," James said, rolling onto a slightly cooler patch of the bed. "Swimming. Shall we?"

 

He'd spent any amount of time tracing the coastline of New Providence island with his looking glass from the quarterdeck of the Walrus, and that stood him in good stead now, because James had a fair idea where to go. It wasn't a great distance, but a good part of the walk went through scrubby underbrush, and the last part was a half-climb, half scramble. 

He'd kept an eye out for anybody who might take note of them, but it was still hot enough that any sensible islander was ensconced in the coolest room of their house, and he did not see anybody. 

Fortunately Miranda had needed no convincing at all to forego what he thought of as her 'public attire' and was in a simple house dress and the sturdier of her shoes, and though she needed help a few times to navigate the rough terrain, came through the walk well enough. She cautiously climbed down the sloping rock surface that led into the cove, and once she was standing on the sand at the bottom of it, she turned around and her mouth fell open in a soft 'Oh.'

It was a tiny inlet, the pale sandy beach barely fifteen paces across, and sheltered from the sea enough that the water lapped in small, gentle wavelets. The steep rock wall on one side provided a narrow stroke of shade that would be growing over the next hours, and that's where he dropped the satchel with provisions and necessities he'd been carrying. Then he kicked off his boots with relish, uncaring of where they landed. 

"The sand is hot!" Miranda exclaimed in surprise, having done the same with her shoes, and then looked a little sheepish for being surprised by it. He was struck by the understanding that this was all new to her, despite spending the better part of a year now on the island. It was bittersweet to be the one to introduce her. 

James walked to the waters' edge and could not hold back a groan when the water cooled his feet. She joined him there, skirts held up, and he grinned at the blissful expression on her face. 

"Be even better on the rest of your body," he told her. 

"Why, sir!" she said, with mock indignation. "Are you suggesting to a Lady that she disrobe?"

He looked away to hide his grin, and began unbuttoning his vest. 

"Yes," he said finally, tossing the garment onto the dry sand and starting on his shirt buttons. "Yes, I am."

She was watching him with frank interest, and he wondered how he looked to her now, here in the bright sunlight. Leaner eating and harder fighting had changed his body, new scars marked his torso, his hair cropped close for practicality, his beard growing out. 

"Well," she said finally with a fond tone, "I suppose you  _ are  _ a notorious pirate." 

It was the gentlest of jokes on a subject that hadn't been amusing to either of them, what he did now, who he was and was aiming to become. It sank into his skin like acceptance, and he took a breath to say— he did not know what, but she'd already turned away. 

Miranda unlaced her simple dress until it could be slipped down her body, and held up the garment for a moment, looking for a place to put it, before shrugging and putting it with their things in the shade. She was still in the voluminous shift he knew was always worn, though at least there were no stays constricting her today. After a moment of hesitation the shift came off too, leaving her in a thinner, thigh length chemise.

James shucked his breeches and hesitated over his smalls, perhaps for the same reason Miranda hesitated. Neither of them had ever been completely bare in the outdoors, and though he knew them to be utterly alone and safe, it felt strange and uneasy. 

"You can teach me to swim in this, can you not?" she asked, and he caught his arm around her waist and pulled her close for a kiss, feeling strange and light. He hummed an affirmation into her mouth and walked her back a few steps, never breaking the kiss, until the water lapped at their ankles.

"Your hair will get wet," he told her when he broke the kiss. "We will start with floating on your back."

She nodded and pulled out the hairpins that held her long braid folded and up against her head, and he watched it unroll, watched in a flash of shivery sense memory as Thomas leaned back against his chest, as Miranda sat in front of the both of them, her back to them, so Thomas could braid her hair before bed. Watched as Thomas reached out his and lightly tugged the end of her braid after he'd tied it off. 

Miranda gave him a sad, sweet smile as she returned from having put away her hairpins, and reached for his hand. 

"Come on, my love. I was promised a swimming lesson by a pirate."

He shook himself out of the melancholy and drew her deeper into the water, until the hem of her chemise floated around her thighs. James let himself sink to his knees, the water chest-height like this, and breathed out in a rush at the blissful cool of the water. 

Miranda followed his example, giving a small yelp as she almost toppled sideways, and he waited for her to right herself. 

"Your body wants to float," he explained, "especially if you breath in. Look."

He took a deep breath and let himself tip backward, stretching his legs out in front of him. His legs stayed under the surface, but his chest and face were above water without effort. He breathed out, and the water closed over his chest, to a startled sound from Miranda. His face stayed above water, but with some effort. Then he breathed in again and rose back to the surface. 

When she tried it, he sat on his knees again, holding a hand under the back of her head so that she could try without fear of going under. He swallowed thickly as the position afforded him a generous view of her breasts under the effectively see through fabric of her chemise.

"Oh, this is  _ bliss _ ful," she said softly, when she felt confident enough to relax her limbs and let the water carry her. 

After a while of simple drifting peacefully in the water, he taught her the backstroke, practising it with her until she was comfortably traversing their little inlet. Breaststroke, and feeling confident enough to propel herself while keeping her head above water, turned out to be a little harder. 

"I'm taking a break," she declared, and turned over to float for a while. James thought that perhaps she had the right idea, and joined her. He let his arms spread out, taking deep breaths, letting his spine relax in what felt like the first time since… he yanked his thoughts back to this moment, where everything was good. Where Miranda was next to him, humming softly, a soft smile on her face. 

James moved slowly to stand in the hip-deep water, and leaned over to press an upside down kiss to her forehead. She startled, scrunching her face at the scratch of his beard and splashed upright, chemise floating and twisting about her body. It clung to her as she rose to her feet, and his mouth went dry at the sight of her, water cascading off her, radiant in the sunlight. 

"This is not doing as much for modesty as I thought it would," she decided, looking down on herself. Then, with a stubborn little tick to her jaw, she pulled up the hem and took off the chemise, striding out of the water to spread it out over a rock. James just watched her— how could he possibly not? She'd commanded his attention from the first moment he'd met her, in every single thing he'd ever seen her wear, but watching her walk into the water utterly naked, all but glowing in the afternoon sunlight, made something in his chest ring like a bell struck. 

_ If only you could have seen her like this _ , he thought at the open place by his side where Thomas should have been, and then he imagined Thomas's incredulous expression at the idea of not spending every ounce of his attention on Miranda in this moment, and pushed back the thought.  _ I can enjoy this for the both of us, then _ .

She waded back into the water, sank down, and tried a few breast strokes in his direction. There was a delight on her face that made him smile. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "this is so much nicer!"

She twisted her legs to turn herself on her back, then again, making a corkscrewing movement through the water, entirely free of clinging fabric. Her head went under, and she came up with a splash and a laugh, surging forward and barrelling her naked body into his so that he went over backward with a grunt.

She was naked and slippery and his mind was entirely unable to focus on anything but the sensation of her skin water-slick against his, but he got his arms under her finally, heaved her up out of the water with a growl. Tossed her, her body convulsing with laughter, in a neat little arc away from him. She went under and he surged toward her, a flash of worry when it took her a moment to surface, but then she was on him again, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling his face toward her for a hard, wet, breathless kiss. 

His hands went under her bottom to support her, and  _ oh _ , so much naked wet skin against his body and his hands, and he was suddenly extremely aware that he was still wearing his smalls. 

"Time to get you out of the sun!" he declared, carrying her to the beach, and she made a protesting noise, her lips on the side of his neck, she was making his _ head spin _ —

James cupped one hand protectively around the back of her head before pressing her up against the rock wall that was throwing a wide strip of shade onto the beach. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist, her bare breasts pressed against his chest, and she ground herself against him, making an impatient sound at the wet fabric that was in the way. 

"We did bring a sheet," he reminded her a little breathlessly. "We could lie down. Take our time."

"We should do that," she agreed, relaxing the grip of her thighs to let herself slide to a stand. He couldn't help kissing her some more, caught between his body and the rock wall, angling her head just so, claiming her mouth.

" _ Now  _ who is impatient," she laughed, gasping, when he finally broke the kiss. "You should deal with this situation" she patted the sodden fabric of his smalls, a teasing smack on his buttock, "and I will spread out that sheet."

The sheet was luxuriously large, enough to keep the sand well away from them, and as soon as he'd ridded himself of the last of his clothing he stepped onto it, swinging Miranda around as in a dance and dipping her low. She made a little squeaking sound and then relaxed her spine, trusting him to hold her. He bent down to fasten his lips to her nipple.

It took little convincing to get her on her back, let him crawl between her legs, kiss her stomach. She wriggled a little when his beard tickled her, and he couldn't help but hold on to her hips and do it some more, to trail his face down her thigh and back up again, to finally bury his face between her legs and lose himself there for a while.

She was wet and salty and trembling against him, legs now tensing, now going slack, and this moment left no space for grief or regret or sadness, demanded he be only here with her, blissfully focused on driving her toward where he wanted her to go. 

When she was close— when her legs tensed against him and her stomach muscles quivered and she bowed up a little — her hand was suddenly, frantically, looking for his. He folded her hand in his and squeezed gently. James hummed against her sensitive flesh, never letting up with his ministrations, until with a sharp gasp she reached her climax, entire body curling upward for a moment around her core, and then easing back down onto the sheet. 

He didn't move just yet, maintained a gentle, soothing touch with his lips, waiting to find if she wanted more, but a tug at his hand made him look up, and oh— her face was wet with tears.

He moved upward until he was at her side, his arms around her, pulling her close, and she buried her face against his neck. Her body convulsed with the strength of her sobs, and he pressed his cheek against her damp hair, unsure what he could do apart from being there. 

He'd only seen her cry once before, on the ship they'd taken from London. After that she'd shown anger and regret and sometimes grief, but she hadn't cried when he visited her, and he'd perhaps allowed himself to forget that the depth of her pain was no less than his. That perhaps she did not cry when he visited because she did not want to taint those sparse few days he could spend with her with even more grief than he already carried on his own shoulders. 

And he'd instinctively known just now, the exact moment the loss of Thomas bore down on her too heavily to hold at bay; when she sought his hand, her other hand had been seeking her husband's hand, just like she had done from the first moment he'd joined them in their bed. Instead she had found the gaping absence of her husband.

He cupped his hand around her head and held her close, rocking them both lightly. He might have expected to feel his own grief wash his reason away like the oncoming tide, but to his surprise he felt calm. In this moment he felt blissfully steady, calm, focused only on Miranda.

He could feel her taking deep, hitching breaths, trying to calm herself, and he pressed his lips to her forehead, rolled onto his back a little so she could press up against his side. Kept up a steady rhythm with his hand along her back. Trying to tell her with his body that she could take whatever time she needed. 

"I miss him so much," she finally said wetly against his neck, and then, "even his stupidly sharp elbows at night."

It startled an unbidden chuckle out of James.

"That's why I liked to have you sleep in the middle, you see," she confided with some of her familiar humour, shaky as it was. "Protection."

"Worth the bruises, to be between you," he murmured softly. He hadn't been able to have many of those nights, always wary of what others might conclude. A handful of times in London, mostly just after he'd returned from sea, they'd kept him late enough, or the weather had been inclement enough, that he'd allowed himself to be convinced to stay the night. And eight blissful days when he'd been their guest at the Hamilton country estate.

They'd installed him into a room adjacent to theirs, with an internal door into their private sitting room. He had only slept in his own bed once, when he and Thomas had spent all of the previous two days in the woods, ostensibly to hunt fowl, though they'd managed one bird between them. That second evening he had feared he'd monopolised Thomas rather too much, and had left them to themselves. He'd woken up not long later to Miranda slipping into his bed, and then in early morning to a sleepy-eyed Thomas, endearingly disgruntled at having woken up alone.

"He could be in the middle every night, if only we could have him back," she said, her voice rising into a tight sob toward the end, and he hummed, kissing her forehead again. 

"Perhaps not  _ every  _ night," he suggested. "Or the bruises would never heal."

She laughed, suddenly, her body convulsing with it, and he smiled too. Then she leaned up to press a salty kiss to his lips, and he groaned, attention shifting abruptly to the way she was moving her thigh to lay across his groin. He slipped his tongue between her soft lips and deepened the kiss, sensing her mood shifting.

"He'd think us idiots, to be grieving in a moment such as this," she declared when she finally broke the kiss with a hum. Her fingertips lightly raked his chest. 

"Perhaps he's looking down on us right now," James suggested, wrapping broad hands around her hips and nudging her to sit astride his body. "We should give him something enjoyable to look at."

She laughed, scandalised and delighted, grinding herself down against the length of him.

"He did always— enjoy this particular… sho-oh-oohh..."

 

Some time later they were breathing quietly together, Miranda's bonelessly relaxed body a pleasant weight on his chest. 

"We should rinse off while there is still sunlight to dry us," James suggested reluctantly. 

"I think we may have both had…" she shifted up to look at his face, tracing a fingertip along his brow, "quite enough sun."

"Then we should return home to make use of that plant you've been growing," he chuckled. She gave him a look he couldn't quite place, something warm and, perhaps, surprised? Then she pushed up and let her body roll to his side, falling into the crook of his arm as if it was the most natural place to be. 

"Not really helping toward that 'get moving' plan we just made," he observed. She made a content little hum, and he grinned, sitting up and taking her with him. Then, with a grunt of effort, he got to his feet with her in his arms, and carried her into the water. She clung to him, and he resisted his initial thought, which had been to toss her in. Instead he kept walking until he was chest-deep in the water, letting it rinse sweat and stickiness from both their bodies.  

"How's your swimming?" he asked, easing his arms away from under her. She did a few backstrokes, moving slowly but without undue effort to stay afloat. 

"Front is not going so easily," she declared, coming upright. Glanced at him with a tiny smile. "I may need more lessons."

"Of course," he said. "Nobody learns in just one time. We'll be continuing your lessons."

She pushed close for a kiss, quick and pleased, and he realised she hadn't counted on a promise of more; more of him and more of days like these. 

"And even after you are proficient, it's important to keep in practice."

The walk home was quiet, both of them loose-limbed and relaxed. James was starting to become aware of how his clothes chafed on skin that had been reddened by the sun, and imagined Miranda couldn't be much better. 

The freedom of the day had been worth it, he thought. 

They were walking a narrow trail, Miranda ahead of him. They weren't yet near the road, shouldn't be in sight of anyone, and so he hesitated only a moment to catch up and lightly halt her with hands over the outside of her shoulders. Wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. 

"We should get home. Wash off the salt," she sighed. 

"Sure. Yes. All right," he murmured against her neck, flicking out his tongue to taste the salt.

"James," she sighed, letting her head roll forward, lightly chiding tone entirely at odds with the inviting gesture. 

"Mm?"

"I might need some help putting on the aloe," she smiled, he could hear it. "Once I'm clean. And naked. In bed."

"Sounds good." He was smiling too, he realised. Probably had been smiling a good part of the day. Enough that it didn't even feel strange on his face anymore. He let her go, and they continued their walk. 

The sun was beginning to set, and they ate the last of the dried meat they'd brought as they walked. 

"Horizon's going hazy," Miranda said, looking East.  

"Mm", James agreed. "It may storm come morning."

They both knew what that meant. Just after a storm was a good time for hunting, prizes often still recovering from what the storm had wrought on their sails and rigging, or laboriously beating into the wind to make up for ground they'd lost. Exhausted crews and limping ships made for easy, often bloodless surrenders. 

"But we still have tonight," he added. The crew would know he'd want to sail in the morning, or as soon as the weather eased, and be ready. Gates would take care of provisioning. He could stay with her a little longer, take his time to massage her skin with aloe. Perhaps read to her —  _ like Thomas used to read to us _ , he thought, and it was a dull ache, but — yes, like Thomas used to do. Maybe instead of avoiding these things, they should do them to honour their missing third. Maybe he needed the peace of it, however momentarily, to take with him when he went away to be Flint again. 

James took a few long strides to catch up, and took Miranda's hand as he came to walk next to her, matching his strides to hers. They each had one hand empty, but, well.   

He had tonight. 


End file.
